


i'd give my body to back again

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling, Drabble, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Winter, all that good stuff, crossposted on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9816089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sam’s twenty-two and freezing his ass off in upper Michigan the first time Dean kisses him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hiya! i know i said i'd make my telepathy fic a series, and believe me i'm writing it, but i figured i'd cross post this fic from a while back first. it was originally posted on my spn side blog.
> 
> title from "to be alone with you" by sufjan stevens, which i literally listened to on repeat for three hours while i wrote this non stop. pretty sure i could taste the color gray by the end.

Sam’s twenty-two and freezing his ass off in upper Michigan the first time Dean kisses him. It’s mostly teeth, an angry bruising of the lips. They’re standing next to a burning grave in broad daylight and Sam’s preoccupied with whether or not anyone will catch them desecrating bodies again, but Dean’s yelling at him for “being reckless” and pulls him in by the collar of his second-hand wool coat.

When Dean finally lets go of him, Sam’s mouth is slack and spit-slick, tips of his ears red from the cold.

“Dean,” his steady voice carries over the howling wind, “drive us back.”

–

Dean has the same shifting-predator look in his eyes as he did years ago. The years apart only sharpened it, made it into a precise hunger instead of a shapeless want. He still watches Sam like he’s a ticking bomb. The juxtaposition of his brother’s steely, rock-hard conviction to his achingly tender softness is something that shakes Sam to his core, even now.

Sam’s not sure how he ever managed to put one foot in front of the other every morning and convince himself it was _fine_ that him and his brother didn’t talk to each other anymore. He covered the searing pain up with girls and boys and alcohol and school and anything, anything but Dean. He’d call Dean’s voicemail just to hear his voice, would fall asleep to it sometimes, his own personal whiskey-soaked lullaby. It felt like part of him was physically missing, without Dean. Like when Sam had left on that filthy Greyhound bus headed for Palo Alto he’d also somehow left a part of him with Dean. Always with Dean.

–

The drive back to their motel is in tense silence, punctuated only by the continued vicious pounding of the wind against the Impala’s windows and the Zeppelin IV tape Dean popped in when it became clear neither of them were going to speak yet.

The heater’s on the fritz, again–Sam can hear the rattling of the legos as it shuts on and off. They’re both shivering so hard everything’s vibrating, and Dean can barely keep the car steady and straight on the road. It feels like years by the time they park in front of their room.

Dean storms in ahead of him, almost shutting the door in Sam’s face before he catches it.

“Dean, what the hell?” Sam says, staring at the line of Dean’s back, rigid and stiff with some unspeakable emotion.

“Sammy, I–”

Sam softens at the obvious exhaustion in Dean’s voice, the late nights and Sam’s spit and the bitter cold all blurring together in his mouth.

“Hey,” he says to Dean, barely above a whisper. “It’s fine. I’m sorry for yelling. Let’s just go to bed.”

Dean finally turns around then. A faint smile quirks up the edges of his faintly chapped lips, some light finally returning to his face. “It’s three in the damn afternoon, are we grandpas?”

Sam shakes his head ruefully, a quiet laugh escaping him. “We’re both tired, c’mon.” Dean finally acquiesces, and they begin their nighttime routine in a mechanical numbness that only comes with complete bone-tiredness. Sam’s already in his bed, hair drying and dripping onto the pillow when Dean hovers in the doorway of the bathroom, bright blue dollar store toothbrush dangling out of his mouth.

“Do you–are we–” Dean sighs and cuts himself off, returning to the sink to spit before shuffling across the room to his bed, unease plain across the tenseness of his shoulders.

“Dean?” Dean hums back at Sam from where he’s facing the window out of their tiny room. “Come here?”

Dean turns on his side to face Sam, hesitance written clearly across his face. “You sure?”

Sam rolls his eyes, impossibly gentle smile playing at his lips. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m cold, come here.”

Dean grumbles about what a baby he is but scoots up behind Sam in the suddenly cramped rickety bed, mattress creaking beneath them. He hovers just inches from Sam’s skin, warm breath puffing lazily onto the back of Sam’s neck, before settling with his arms around Sam, drawing him in closer as they both drift off into a hazy sleep.

–

Sam wakes up with his nose buried at the base of Dean’s neck, his whole body intertwined up with Dean’s, attached at almost every possible point; bony knees knocking into each other, frozen feet bumping beneath thin, cheap motel sheets. He’s pretty sure his arms are asleep. He blinks his eyes open lazily before yawning and curling even closer into Dean’s warmth and that distinct Dean smell of gun powder, car oil and cinnamon.

He knows Dean’s awake, probably has been for hours. He’s looking out the window, chin resting on the top of Sam’s head.

“Mornin’,” he whispers into Sam’s hair.

“Time s’it.”

“’Bout six.”

“In the morning?”

“Yeah, you slept awhile.”

“Well, how long have you been up?”

“Since three.”

“’Course.” Dean hums in agreement before laying a kiss in Sam’s hair. “Dean?”

Dean freezes.

“We have to talk about this, y’know.”

“What is there to talk about.”

“You kissed me.” Dean squirms a little.

“I did.”

“I liked it.”

Dean freezes again, his grip on Sam tightening. “I–”

“I’ve had a crush on you since I was 16, Dean. And call me crazy all you want, but–but–” Sam loses wind then, the words heavy on the back of his tongue.

“Sammy, I just…can we discuss our feelings under a microscope later, please? I just want to lay here for right now.”

Sam sighs, but allows himself to be drawn back into Dean’s warmth, turning around so he can watch out the window too. “Hey! It’s snowing!”

Dean chuckles lowly against his neck, placing a gentle kiss there before drawing Sam up even tighter against him, lulling him back into drowsiness. That hunt really had taken a lot out of him.

Sam’s half-asleep when he hears it.

“I’ve had a crush on you since you were 16 too.”

He smiles against Dean’s skin, and allows sleep to take him once more.


End file.
